


the only thing that gets easier is admitting you're wrong

by cirque_de_reves (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: After this I'll write something happy I swear, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Season 13 spoilers, Supernatural s13ep04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-02-01 17:17:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12709383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/cirque_de_reves
Summary: Dean can't say goodbye to Cas's face - at least not in a way he could understand - so he writes it.(another 13x04 fic) (I'm a bit obsessed)





	the only thing that gets easier is admitting you're wrong

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gosh, this makes me sad. All I wanted for this was to subtly mix the notebook (which I watched the other day expecting to hate it and i mostly did, MOSTLY) and Dean's fight-it-with-humor style of confessing things, so I hope I got there :-)  
> On the bright side, Cas is obviously Dean's happiness !!  
> (And the upcoming episode is pretty much Brokeback Mountain: Supernatural Edition, so I wouldn't worry too much about how this fic makes you feel)  
> And as I mentioned in the tags, I will write something ridiculously fluffy. Soon. I swear. I need to compensate,,,,  
> ANyhoo, enjoy!

_Dear Cas,_

_I want to be angry, but you’re dead. You should be angry at me (but you’re dead)._

_I don’t want anything anymore. Not like I used to._

_Actually, scratch that._

_I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. It’s about you, always, of course. I can’t get you out of my fucking head._

_Nothing works anymore. Not beer, or bacon, or booze, contrary to whatever I tell Sam every morning when he asks if I’m good. Just like that. “You good?” EVERY MORNING. (At least he cares. At least he’s breathing)_

_I know I’m not good. He knows I’m not. You would, if you were here. If you still had a goddamn pulse, if we hadn’t burned your body._

_Why the fuck did we do that?_

_Dammit, Cas, I want you back so bad. Every time you leave me I get this tightness in my chest, and I can’t stop berating myself for not touching you more. I wish we had hugged more often. Even shaking your hand just felt good, but we never had to do anything like that. Hell, when we met I stabbed you. We’ve been on a whole other level since day one._

_I wish I had kissed you._

_I can’t let myself think about that now, because your lips are ash now, and before that they were cold and pale and couldn’t have cared less if they went up in flames. But before_ that _they were pink and sweet and tugging at the beeline of my eyesight, always. You didn’t notice, because you’re a clueless son of a bitch – an angel, for fuck’s sake, who knew they could be so naïve – or maybe you did, I don’t know. If you did, you little shit, I hate you for that. Couldn’t you have just grabbed me by my fake badge and pulled me in or something?_

_You got me headed into some painful territory here, Cas._

_I’m not sure – I never was, when it came to this. It’s really fucking hard to show that kinda stuff on your face, you know? I can smile in just the right way to make girls swoon into my arms, but if someone told me to grin like I wanted some dick I’d stand there like an idiot, blushing and probably getting ready to kill whatever fucker asked the question._

_I’m not sure, but I think you felt that way, too._

_I think you loved me? The more times I write it down, the easier it is to say and the harder it is to bear._

_I think you loved me._

_And I could sure as shit be biased, because I love you more than you’ll ever know, more than it’s possible for you to know, because you don’t exist anymore. As far as I know, all that’s left of you is Jimmy Novak decomposing in a ditch somewhere on the east coast._

_I feel bad for the guy, really. We put him through a whole lot of crap._

_I guess he wasn’t truly there for any of it, though. And after a while, after you died the first time, he wasn’t there at all._

_You weren’t, either._

_I’ve lost you so many goddamn times, Cas. What does it take for me to get it through my thick skull that we belong together? I make you mixtapes and I cry over you and this one time I thought of you while a barista sucked my dick (ONE TIME) and you’re the last thing I think of before I fall asleep, before I slaughter monsters. I think, this is worth it if I get to see you one more time. This is worth it if I’m saving people._

_But saving people isn’t worth it if I couldn’t save you._

_I know you’ll never read this. I’d spontaneously combust if you did, I think, but that doesn’t make it okay that you’re already dead. Nothing could make that okay. Not liquor, or strippers, or greasy gas-station food. There’s nothing in this dumbass world that could justify me not being able to tell you how much I care about you. I know you’ll never read this, and it doesn’t matter – you’re fucking gone, dammit, does anything? – but I love you, I love you, I love you._

_Ignore the tearstains, you asshole._

_Dean_

 

Dean puts down the pencil and picks up the gun.

Sam is yelling at him from downstairs; it's probably time to go decapitate something, now. Again. He can't catch a break.

He stalks toward the door but pauses in the frame, for some reason, and looks at the letter. It's sitting on his desk, right where he left it. He feels like it's glaring at him, like it's pissed because he's leaving it behind, too.

He loads a shot into the chamber, his eyebrows drawn together but the rest of his face like cold porcelain - and points and squeezes, and the cartridge hits the scrappy sheet of looseleaf square in the center, whizzing through the wood and then the drywall, burying itself.

He walks away.

It wasn't worth the bullet.


End file.
